


li jiě

by lantur



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Finding Family, Light Angst, Pre-Canon, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:54:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26566903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lantur/pseuds/lantur
Summary: Roy and Riza travel to Xing, and find understanding.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 115
Kudos: 102





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rizahawkayyyy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rizahawkayyyy/gifts).



> This is a concept borrowed from Chapter Six of my other fic, the Riza character study “delicate.” You do not need to be reading that to understand this (although you might enjoy it a little more!) In a nutshell, for those who haven’t read the other fic - this is Roy and Riza pre-canon, shortly after Edward Elric becomes a State Alchemist. 
> 
> To people who are reading “delicate,” the first few pages of setup are the same as what you read in Chapter Six. The content diverges from what happened in the fic after Roy and Riza arrive in Xing. 
> 
> For reference, Roy is twenty-five and Riza is twenty-one in this fic.
> 
> The title, lǐ jiě, translates to "understanding" in Mandarin.

Roy calls Riza into his office late in the week. Literally. He calls the telephone at her desk and asks her to come see him, rather than getting up and walking about forty steps to stand at his doorway and request her presence. Riza acquiesces, rolling her eyes as she does so. 

She finds her commanding officer sitting at his desk, surrounded by a mountain of files, looking rather beleaguered. “Grumman wants me to attend a dinner meeting in Xing with a member of his network, a General Huang, on his behalf,” Roy says, without preamble. “The dinner is on the thirtieth of the month. You’ll accompany me. We’ll leave on the twenty-seventh, we’ll spend two full days in Suzhao, and we’ll factor in another two days for our return trip.”

Riza closes her eyes and exhales slowly through her nose. She thinks back to a conversation she’d had with Grumman some months ago, after dinner at his manor.  _ You should travel, Riza. I can help you arrange a trip to Xing. Mustang could survive without you for a couple of weeks. Or he could even accompany you. Nobody would have to know.  _

Her grandfather is a sly old fox. He’s probably sitting in his office right now, chuckling to himself as he enjoys his lunch. If she didn’t have to worry about keeping their familial relationship discreet, she would go over there right now and tell him exactly what she thinks of this unsubtle attempt at matchmaking. 

Roy studies her, apparently concerned. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, sir,” Riza forces out. “It’s just - six days out of the office. I’ll have to rearrange your schedule, and mine.” 

“Chin up, Hawkeye,” Roy tosses his pen up in the air and catches it, seeming to forget his paperwork-related struggles. “It’s a big deal, representing Grumman at an event abroad. Even though it’s not a formal state dinner. He’s never entrusted me with something like this before - just standing in for him at some meetings in Central.”

Riza bites the inside of her cheek to refrain from muttering something about Grumman’s ulterior motives. It is nice to see how happy it makes Roy, though. She enjoys seeing him like this. “It is, sir.”

“Besides…” Roy smiles, and it makes her breath stutter in her chest. “We get to go to Xing. You know that I’ve always wanted to visit. Now we have the chance.” 

Riza goes back to her desk. Despite her best efforts to stay focused as she reorganizes their schedules for the month, her train of thought keeps drifting to late autumn in Xing with Roy.

-

Riza has seen photographs of Xing, in Grumman’s photo albums, in museums, in textbooks. They had been in black-and-white, usually, and they captured the capital city or the countryside, or the vast, towering mountains. She’s never seen a photograph of Suzhao. In any case, she doubts that any photograph could do the city justice. 

They couldn’t capture the rich, heavy scent of the incense and floral offerings at the entrance to the temples on every street. Or the scent of the blossoms on the pink mimosa trees that line every avenue, as they mingle with the aroma of the wares of the street food vendors’ stalls. They couldn’t capture the ethereal color of the blue wisteria trees, or the startling orange pistache trees, or the sharp points and graceful curves of the temple roofs. They wouldn’t pick up the shimmering gold and all the shades of jade and the bright pink, blue, red, and yellow pigments that make up the statuettes inside the temples and the elaborate art inlaid into the walls.

Every street is a juxtaposition of new and old. Train stations, schools, apartment buildings, hotels, and eateries and cafes sit alongside ancient, carefully preserved temples, large and small. Despite all of Riza’s experience as a bodyguard, it’s a struggle to remain focused on her task as she and Roy explore the city in the hours before dinner at General Huang’s manor. Riza is thankful that they prepared for the dinner meeting extensively on the convoy ride over here, leaving some time for leisure when they arrived.  _ We are not going to cram at the last minute in our hotel,  _ she lectured Roy, who blew a stray lock of hair out of his eyes and gave her a distinctly rebellious scowl. 

Roy is just as fascinated by their surroundings as she is. He leads her into a succession of temples dedicated to various gods, and they stand in respectful silence in front of the enormous iron braziers, taking it all in. Riza knows that Roy is very rarely religious - only when he perceives some threat to his subordinates - but he regards the temple interiors thoughtfully. The frown lines that mark his brow soften. The expression in his dark eyes is a little less intense; a little more peaceful. 

Riza realizes that she’s staring. She looks away, back at the swirls of incense smoke as they drift toward the sky. 

Roy often stops dead in the middle of walking down each street, looking into shop windows displaying brightly colored Xingese fabrics, or porcelain vases, or miniature statues of the gods, or wall scrolls. “Hawkeye, look,” he says to her, a dozen times over, pointing out this or that. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this excited, sir,” Riza remarks, as they leave a bookstore. Roy carries a bag containing a book on the language and culture of Xing for him, and a biography on Empress Chuntao of the Cheng dynasty for her.

“I didn’t think I would get to come here until I became Fuhrer. It’s not exactly easy to book travel between Amestris and Xing.” Roy pauses mid-step, eyeing a noodle stall across the street with interest. “I just wish we had more time and we could go further afield. Chris mentioned that my mother was from the capital city, and that’s almost an entire day’s travel from here.”

Ever since Riza had gotten to know Grumman, she and Roy have talked, on occasion, about Roy’s maternal family.  _ Do I have grandparents?  _ he asked her once, while driving back from a Saturday night dinner at Grumman’s manor.  _ Aunts, uncles, cousins?  _

She can see the quiet yearning in his expression, hear it in his tone, now. Riza stifles the temptation to put a comforting hand on his arm. “When you’re Fuhrer,” she says.

“Hmm.” Roy sounds unconvinced. “How would you feel about taking a few more days away from the office, Lieutenant?” 

“I wish we could.” The words are too honest. Riza averts her eyes from him, scanning the street for any potential threats or developing situations. They’re both in civilian clothing, but Amestrian civilian clothing still stands out here, making them potential targets. 

(She wishes that they  _ could _ take a few weeks away, and explore Xing, and walk arm-in-arm through the streets. Here, this far away from East City Command, from  _ Amestris, _ they don’t have to be the Colonel and his Lieutenant, a commanding officer and his subordinate. They could just be Roy and Riza.) 

“What’s stopping us?” Roy doesn’t speak with his usual easy humor. His voice doesn’t have the touch of sarcasm and challenge that she knows too well, from every time he pushes back on her cautions or advice. He sounds entirely serious. Riza turns back to him, and he forestalls her reply by elaborating. “We’re going to be behind on work anyway. Taking an extra week won’t kill us. We’ll catch up when we get back. You’ll make sure of that.”

She shouldn’t give this serious consideration. She should protest. But Riza is already tempted, and her refusal sticks in her throat. Roy sees her hesitation, and pounces like a cat on an unwary mouse. “Besides,” he adds, sliding into his most persuasive tone, deliberately charming and endearing. “It could be ten to fifteen years, at least, before I’m Fuhrer.”

The rest of the words hang unspoken between them. Once Roy is Fuhrer, they will have more important things to attend to than making trips abroad. There will be sweeping reforms to put in place, transforming Amestris from a military state to a democracy, and setting the stage for the country’s first ever democratic election. They will have to make reparations to Ishval and rebuild the region. They will have to work extensively on safeguards to prevent some future military general or another from undoing all of Roy’s hard work and placing power back in the hands of the military.

When all of that is over, there will be a trial to plan, and hundreds of war criminals to bring to justice. (Riza’s mind fills in the rest. The courtroom, the tiny jail cell, and ultimately, the firing squad.)

This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. They both know it.

Riza exhales. “Fine.” 

-

They attend their dinner that night with General Huang, as planned. The following morning, Roy calls Grumman from their hotel. 

“Dinner went very well,” he informs Grumman, leaning against the wall as he speaks. “Hawkeye and I will report to you in detail as soon as we return. We’re planning on taking an extra five days in Xing - with your approval, of course. Havoc can serve as our unit’s officer in charge until our return.” 

Riza can hear her grandfather’s exclamation of delight from where she stands a few feet away, and she shakes her head. He’ll be insufferable next time they have dinner at the manor. 

Roy returns after a couple of minutes, looking slightly red in the face, adjusting his black overcoat. “Grumman approved our leave. He also provided a suggestion on the best rail line to take from Suzhao to Lianzhou, and a few ideas for places to stay.” 

Riza checks the clock on the far wall of the hotel lobby. This is by far the finest building she has ever set foot in. Burnished wood floors in a shade of rich, dark cherry; massive, exquisite silk wall hangings; statuettes of gold and jade and arrangements of orchids on every polished surface. She can only imagine the level of luxury of Grumman’s recommendations in the capital city. 

“Do we have time for breakfast before getting our things and heading to the station?” she asks. 

Roy is already pulling out his guidebook to Suzhao, flipping to the pages on the best food stalls for breakfast in the city, a gleam in his eyes. “Oh, Hawkeye, one day you’ll learn - we  _ always  _ have time for breakfast.”

-

They walk for half an hour, taking in the sights and sounds of the city, until they reach a market that’s already bustling with people, despite the early hour. Roy blithely searches for stall number forty-five while Riza surveys their surroundings, trying to determine whether each person to come within close range of them is carrying a concealed weapon. 

Roy finally finds the stall he’s looking for. They take a seat on the splintering wooden bench in front of a pair of cooks who whip up oyster omelets right before their eyes. A group of hungover college students takes up most of the bench, forcing the two of them to cram themselves in at the very edge. They sit shoulder-to-shoulder, legs pressing together from hip to knee, arms pressed together from shoulder to wrist. 

The proximity is entirely inappropriate, and Riza loves it. They eat one small, hot oyster omelet after another, and drink chilled jasmine tea, chatting as they observe the meals offered at the other stalls and watching the people who pass by. Their breakfast is long, and leisurely and sweet, so unlike any of the other breakfasts she’s shared with Roy. They share breakfast often on work days (and lunch, and dinner), but they’re quick bites grabbed from the mess hall, of slightly stale toast or bagels spread with too much butter or cream cheese in an attempt to make them more palatable. They rarely have time to even sit and eat their meals - they usually eat while walking the hallways of Eastern Command, off to some meeting or another, or in Roy’s car on their way to a field assignment. Being able to linger like this is a luxury. 

“That stall over there has scallion pancakes,” Riza observes. “And look at the stall to our right. They’re serving black eggs. That can’t be the shell - I know that some chickens lay brown or blue eggs, but I’ve never heard of black eggs.”

Roy shakes his head. “That’s not the shell. The eggs are just dyed that color after soaking in a mixture of soy sauce and oyster sauce.”

Riza raises an eyebrow, and he straightens his tie, looking rather smug. “Culinary knowledge isn’t just your domain, you know.” 

“Pardon my surprise,” Riza deadpans. “I didn’t expect such knowledge from a man who subsists on peanut butter sandwiches and buttered toast.” 

(One day several months ago, casual conversation in the office turned to cooking, as Havoc wistfully reminisced about an Eastern recipe his mother used to make.  _ I can’t make a good goulash, no matter how hard I try,  _ he complained.  _ The flavors aren’t right.  _

Riza recommended including a liberal amount of smoked Drachman paprika rather than regular paprika. Over the course of the conversation, she learned that Havoc picked up cooking as a hobby after graduating from the Academy, out of a desire to impress the ladies. His worst dish was goulash and his best was steak with mashed potatoes. She learned that Breda enjoyed preparing seafood, especially fried fish. He went off on a tangent about the merits of salmon compared to white fish, while Havoc rolled his eyes in the background. She learned that Falman loves cooking vegetarian recipes, and that Fuery is a novice cook who is consistently challenged by the task of making chicken flavorful enough. 

Fuery looked toward their commanding officer.  _ What about you, Colonel?  _ he asked cheerfully.  _ Do you have any special recipes you like to prepare?  _

Roy coughed self-consciously.  _ Well, sometimes I boil eggs and put them on toast, with sliced tomatoes and horseradish sauce. _

The unit, as one, fixed him with a look of mingled pity, disgust, and judgment.) 

Roy turns red, now. “Well, not everyone can be as accomplished a cook as you are,” he grouses, and then he sighs. “I still remember that red sauce with meat that you would make, back during my apprenticeship. You served it with rice or pasta.”

“It was a simple marinara.” (Roy remembers that she had served the sauce with meat. Riza remembers mixing the meager amounts of meat she could afford to buy into the sauce, and adding liberal amounts of chopped mushrooms to the dish to make it more filling. She has been earning a decent salary for three years now, and she still isn’t quite used to being able to afford to buy meat and fish and chicken at the market as she pleases, in whatever quantity she pleases.) “You could get it at any restaurant, and they sell it jarred at markets as well.”

“I’ve tried it at several restaurants. It’s not the same.”  Roy gestures for another omelet, and Riza takes a sip of her tea to conceal her blush at the compliment. “I learned about the egg thing from a Xingese cookbook that Chris got me when I moved to East City.” He digs into his fresh omelet with enthusiasm. “They’re called iron eggs because of how hard they are. The book features one hundred of the best recipes in Xing, separated by the different regions of the country.” 

“I was thinking of purchasing one here. I may just borrow yours, if you’ll allow it.” Riza glances at him. “You haven’t tried cooking any?”

“No.” Roy shrugs. “I read through the recipes in the book during some nights that I couldn’t sleep, but it never seemed worth it to buy the specialized ingredients and go through all that effort to prepare a meal for one.”

The words hit uncomfortably close to home. Riza cooks batches of food on the weekends and eats dinner alone on most nights, barring her Friday night dinners with the unit and Saturday night dinners with Rebecca. She occasionally stands in front of the stove, ladling her food onto a plate, or reheating her leftovers, only to be struck by brief flashes of memory. Of meals shared with Mother, before she passed. Of setting a plate down in front of her father’s apprentice, who would look up at her from his alchemy textbooks, and give her a smile.  _ That looks good. Thank you.  _

(And oh, how she had treasured every single one of those smiles and those kind words, as a terribly lonely girl of twelve and then thirteen, with a painful crush on the first boy who ever showed her kindness. She would lie in bed, clutching her stuffed dog that was growing ragged with age, and replay those smiles and those words in her mind’s eye.)

Riza clears her throat, trying to forget. “There’s a stall selling crab porridge across from us.”

“If I hadn’t eaten about fifteen of these omelets, I would buy some.” Roy smiles suddenly, as he counts out a handful of yuan to pay for their meals. 

“What is it?” Riza adds a generous tip to the payment. 

“I was just thinking - oyster omelets, crab porridge, iron eggs, scallion pancakes.” Roy indicates the crowded market as they rise, preparing to make their way back to the hotel. “You and I have come a long way from Cecil, haven’t we?”

Her tiny, obscure hometown in Eastern Amestris. During all the years of growing up, diligently toiling away at her schoolwork and keeping up with the maintenance of Hawkeye Manor, Riza never once dreamed that someday, not even ten years in the future, she would be sitting in a foreign country and sharing breakfast alongside Roy Mustang. 

Riza nods. “Yes,” is all she can say. 

She has come a long way from her girlhood in Cecil. To the State Military Academy in Central City, to the front lines of the war in Ishval and back. On to East City, and now to Xing. The future stretches before her (before both of them, because their futures are intertwined, after all) with so much more unknowns. All she knows, all  _ they _ know, is where their journey ends. 

Roy stops to buy a couple of candied fruit skewers for them. Riza smiles slightly as she watches him inspecting the vendor’s offerings in order to determine which fruit sticks have the largest slices of strawberries and mangos.

Maybe it would be all right for them, occasionally, to enjoy themselves along the way. 

-

They retrieve their things from the hotel and board the train from Suzhao to the capital city of Lianzhou, in the first-class berth. Roy and Riza’s eyes both light on the window seat at the same moment. 

They exchange one look. It would be the gentlemanly thing for Roy to offer her the window seat. It would be the polite, respectful thing, as a subordinate to her commanding officer, for Riza to offer him the window seat. Instead, both of them move toward it at the same time. Roy wins out, as he almost always does - he can be surprisingly swift. He settles himself in the window seat with a contented sigh. 

Riza breathes a somewhat martyred sigh and sits down next to him. This is a process that they have repeated on countless train journeys throughout Eastern Amestris, on Roy’s trips to interview and recruit potential candidates for the State Alchemist program. 

“Cheer up, Hawkeye. Maybe you’ll get it next time,” Roy says, without a hint of remorse. 

“It’s fine, Colonel.” Riza smooths a crease from her skirt. “Perhaps your usual assertion is correct, and you are entitled to the window seat, as the senior officer.”

“Hmm.” Roy looks out of the window as the train begins to move, pulling free of the station. “The thought occurred to me that as of this morning, you and I are no longer on a diplomatic trip as representatives of the Amestrian military. We’re effectively private citizens.”

She’d had the same thought just a little while ago, as they had walked back to the hotel after breakfast. Riza opens her autobiography of Empress Chuntao. “Are you ceding the window seat to me, then?”

She leaves the  _ sir,  _ the  _ Colonel,  _ off the end of the sentence, just as she had last night, while they had been walking home from dinner at General Huang’s manor. It’s an effort to break the habitual address, but surprisingly, it doesn’t feel uncomfortable or insubordinate to address him as an equal. Roy doesn’t seem to mind either. (Now that Riza thinks of it, he hasn’t called her  _ Lieutenant  _ since the morning they arrived.)

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Roy clears his throat. “I’m still entitled to the window seat, due to the seniority of age.”

“You’re four years older than me, not fourteen,” Riza sniffs. 

They gaze out the window, occasionally pointing out landmarks from the city as they pass. The landscape gradually shifts from urban to suburban, and then the rail line takes them past long stretches of lush trees, their leaves ablaze in shades of red, orange, and yellow. Every so often, she catches a glimpse of small shrines nestled among the trees. 

Riza had meant to take this time to write in her travel journal, or do some reading, but the view out of the window is strangely captivating - a sharp contrast to the tedium of the lengthy desert crossing from Amestris to Xing. They pass long, thin streams, and lakes more vast than any Riza has seen in Amestris. Even the trees appear different. The branches stretch out further, curving gracefully, and the trunks have a knobbled texture that would be interesting to touch. 

“It’s a beautiful country,” she comments. 

“It is.” Roy has his book on Xingese language and culture on his lap, but he hasn’t cracked it open. They sit in comfortable silence for a while before he continues. “I love Amestris. But this place is remarkable too.”

“I can never get used to you saying that,” Riza replies in an undertone, careful that she isn’t overheard. There aren’t many passengers in the first class berth with them, but caution never hurts. 

She had never been a particularly patriotic youth. Even the choice to enlist in the military had been born out of financial necessity. Once she became a cadet, she realized that what motivated her as a soldier was the desire to help individuals - her fellow citizens and soldiers - rather than upholding the country as an institution. And after Ishval… If it wasn’t for her duty to the Ishvalans who had been unjustly murdered, if it wasn’t for what she owed them, she would have left the country that committed those atrocities without a look back. 

“You might feel differently if you had been born in Central. I truly believed it was the greatest city in the world.” A small, rueful smile touches Roy’s lips. “Part of me still does, I guess. Despite everything.”

Roy feels an affection for Amestris itself that Riza does not. They have spent countless hours traveling by train and car to every corner of the country in the course of their professional responsibilities. He never tires of gazing out the window, at the tiny towns, the rolling fields and hills, the factories and warehouses, the forests and meadows. He loves their country, all of it. 

“We have a responsibility to Amestris, as citizens,” he says now, as he’s told her before. “It was born out of strife and warfare, but that doesn’t have to define its story any longer. All of us have a responsibility to make it a better and more just country, for all who come after us.”

“We have a responsibility to the  _ people _ ,” Riza corrects softly. “All of the ones who were, and are, and will be.”

“That’s true as well.” Roy looks out the window. The train takes them past a brilliant blue lake with a surface as smooth as mirrored glass. “Being here in Xing, though, and seeing what it’s like, it makes me want to see Drachma,” he says suddenly. “And Aerugo, and Creta. You went to Creta with Catalina in summer, didn’t you? What was it like?”

“It was lovely.” Riza searches for the words to describe it. “The ocean was the most vivid shade of blue, but not the same as these lakes. It was blue with more of a greenish tone, and the water was completely clear. The sand was warm and soft, and every building on our island was painted bright white, to contrast with the sea.”

Roy considers it, looking wistful. “That sounds scenic. It would be nice if we--”

He cuts himself off, and Riza understands. She has felt the same stirrings of longing when looking at Grumman’s photographs of his travels to Drachma, Aerugo, Creta, Xing. She has brushed her fingers against the photographs of Drachman palaces and the ruins and jungles deep in Aerugo, and she has thought,  _ the things I would do, if I could.  _ If she could indulge herself. If she could live for herself, and not just to serve the purpose that she is duty-bound to serve. 

She never lets those thoughts go too far. Riza understands, as she knows Roy must understand too, that it is dangerous to want. 

* * *

_to be continued_

* * *


	2. two

Roy and Riza reach Lianzhou in the evening, have dinner at a night market, and retreat to their hotel. It is even more luxurious than their accommodations in Suzhao, reflecting Grumman’s lavish tastes in places to stay. After doing a security check of Roy’s hotel room and her own, Riza takes a long, warm bath, soaking in the enormous tub. Afterward, she wraps herself in the kimono robe provided by the hotel, relishing the feeling of the silk against her skin, admiring the pink cranes and flowers printed on the gunmetal silver fabric. She has just settled in bed with her book when a knock sounds on the door. 

It is Roy’s coded knock - two light raps and one firm, the first two in immediate succession and the third after a pause of two seconds. Riza glances at the clock in the corner of the room, wondering what he could want at this hour. He certainly hadn’t brought any of his paperwork with him to Xing, despite her entreaties. It isn’t quite decent to receive her commanding officer in her room late at night, dressed in nothing but a silk robe - but she doesn’t want to leave him standing outside in the hallway, vulnerable, until she pulls on an entire outfit from her bag. Besides, the robe covers her from collarbone to ankle, shoulders to fingertips. 

Riza opens the door. “Is everything all right, Colonel?”

The familiar term of address just slips out. Roy blinks at her. He’s still fully dressed, his tie loosened, and his hair is standing on end like he’s been running his hands through it. “I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

“Bothering me while I’m trying to get some reading done.” Riza steps to the side to allow him in, letting him know, without saying it in so many words, that his presence is never a bother to her. 

Roy enters and flings himself into the elaborately carved wooden chair placed near the writing desk. He shrugs, the gesture oddly helpless. “It was a foolish, impulsive idea. The kind of harebrained scheme I’d expect from Fullmetal. All I know is my mother’s name. Shu Lan Tian - it’s not even an unusual name. And I’ve come to this city, this city of nearly half a million people, looking for her family? It’s like searching for a needle in a haystack. We might as well turn back and go home. Where on earth are we supposed to begin?”

“The city records office,” Riza replies calmly. There’s no other chair in the room, so she sits on the edge of the bed, facing him, trying to keep a professional posture despite the unconventional situation. “I called the concierge already. He told me that the city records office opens at seven-hundred hours tomorrow. We’ll go as soon as it opens.” 

Roy rubs the back of his neck, still clearly discomfited. “She left the city twenty-six years ago. Just before I was born. What if there aren’t any records of her from that time?”

“There’s no reason to believe that. Record-keeping in Xing is excellent, much more so than in most areas of Amestris.” Riza regards him with sympathy. She recognizes the same nervousness and uncertainty that had plagued her in the days before she had agreed to have dinner with Grumman for the first time. If he were anyone else - Rebecca, or anyone in her unit - she would rest a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We’ll find what we’re looking for.”

Roy’s shoulders slump. For a moment, he looks like the sixteen-year-old boy who had brooded in the back grounds of Hawkeye Manor, discouraged when a complicated transmutation backfired. “Do you really think so?”

“I know it.” Riza speaks firmly, imbuing her tone with the confidence that she wants to instill in him.

Roy finally smiles. “Thanks.” He claps his palms against the arms of the chair, and then rises a bit awkwardly, as if it had suddenly registered that he’s in her hotel room at twenty-two hundred hours, and she’s sitting on the edge of the bed. This could be a scene from one of the romance novels Rebecca loves so much. “Sorry to intrude on your personal time like this.”

“It’s fine.” Riza stands, walking him to the door. “I’m always here to help.”

For a moment, Roy looks like he is about to pat her on the shoulder. He braces his hand against the door instead. “Good night, Hawkeye. Sleep well.”

Roy leaves, returning to his own room, next to hers. The confidence has returned to his demeanor; he walks with his head held high and his shoulders straight. 

Riza closes the door behind her and locks it. She leans her forehead against the door for just a moment and exhales, before returning to bed and her book. 

-

They spend a few hours at the county records office the following morning, making inquiries and doing research, both of them hampered by their limited knowledge of the language. Thankfully, they find a few kindly employees with some knowledge of Amestrian. After much convincing from Roy ( _ I’m dressed as a civilian, in another country, Hawkeye. There’s no reason to believe anyone would see me and decide that they want me dead...unless they just don’t like the look of my face _ ), the two of them split up, moving to different floors to work on their search.

Riza is returning from the vending machine, two chilled bottles of mango juice in hand, when she nearly collides with Roy on the stairs. Such clumsiness isn’t like her, but he had been charging up them three at a time, and he grabs her upper arms to steady her. 

“I found something,” he blurts out, waving his journal at her, excited as a puppy. 

Riza can’t help but smile as she hands him one of the bottles of juice. “Congratulations. What did you find out?”

“My mother wasn’t actually from the city. She was just here to attend the university.” They make their way down the stairs, out of the building, and into the fresh air. It is bright but cool outside, the air pleasantly brisk. “She was from a town called Shanyin. It’s about six hours north of here, very close to the Han Gengxin mountain range. She had two older brothers, whom she listed as emergency contacts on her enrollment paperwork at the university. I made a call to the university once I learned she was enrolled there, and they were very helpful.”

They settle on a bench underneath a maple tree, and Riza listens, taking it in. “What did she study at the university?”

“Chemistry.” Roy grins. “Chris told me my father studied that as well. It’s easy to see what they could have bonded over, if you catch my meaning.”

Riza rolls her eyes at the joke. “And it’s easy to see where you get your proficiency in science from.” She remembers the yellowing photograph he had shown her once, of his parents. The sole surviving photograph of the two of them together, tucked carefully into a carved jade box that had belonged to Roy’s mother, along with a couple of other keepsakes. His father’s university pin, and his mother’s jeweled hair comb. 

“I have uncles,” Roy marvels, leaning back against the bench. He drapes his arm along the back of the bench, behind her shoulders. Riza fights the desire to lean into him. “Probably cousins, too.” 

Riza glances at him out of the corner of her eye. “Is it easy to get to Shanyin from here?”

“Yes. There’s a train that leaves every day at eleven-hundred hours.” Roy shifts, pulling his arm back to himself. “You don’t have to come with me. This was supposed to be a simple diplomatic visit on Grumman’s behalf. Taking this detour was questionable enough. I have no right to make you follow me halfway around the country on this wild goose chase.”

The mental image of Roy chasing a wild goose throughout Xing, as she dutifully follows after him, makes her want to smile. Riza fights the impulse, and gives him a deadpan look instead. “You should know that as your bodyguard, I would rather pull out one of my own teeth with a wrench than allow you to venture off alone like that in a foreign country.”

Roy bursts out in un-self-conscious laughter, and a few elderly women passing by smile indulgently at him. “Please don’t, Hawkeye. I like your smile.”

Riza looks away, wishing she had a better method of concealing her blush. “Besides, I swore to follow you anywhere. That vow didn’t expire once we left the borders of Amestris.”

“Thank you.” The words are gentle and sincere, and Roy pats his journal. “I wrote my uncles’ names down. We can look them up once we get to Shanyin. I’m sure they have a records office there as well.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Riza opens her bottle of mango juice and takes a sip. It is sweet and delightful, unlike anything she’s had before. “Are there any sights that you would like to see in the city today?” 

“Many.” Roy pulls out his guidebook to Lianzhou, purchased at the night market the previous evening, from an inner pocket of his coat. “But there’s something that we should do first. Come on. Let’s find Xuefeng Street, in the Jiang District.”

-

They eschew taxis, as they had in Suzhao. Riza spends fifteen minutes telling Roy that she will not allow him to rent a scooter for them to travel around the city. “I’m a good driver,” he argues. “I’ve been able to drive since I was fifteen. Ten years now, and not a single auto accident! If I can drive a car, I can drive a scooter.”

“Two-wheeled vehicles are death traps,” Riza counters, unmoved. “Besides, they drive on the other side of the road here. You’re not familiar with it.” 

Roy relents, pouting. They wander the city on foot, trying not to look like conspicuous tourists. He occasionally and enviously points out the motorists zipping through the streets on brightly colored scooters. “That could be us.” 

Riza rolls her eyes, and then indicates a scoop of ice cream splattered on the sidewalk, undoubtedly spilled by a distressed child. Several pigeons peck at the mess. “ _ That _ would be us.”

Roy mutters indignantly, consulting the guidebook for directions. “You could drive and I could be your passenger, if that would make you feel better.”

“Marginally.” Riza extends an olive branch. “Perhaps in Shanyin, if the roads are emptier.” 

They find the Jiang District and then Zhong Mu Outfitters eventually. It is the largest clothing shop that Riza has ever set foot in, stocked from floor to ceiling with shelves upon shelves of Xingese garments. The shop is busy, packed with tourists and locals alike, and Roy’s eyes gleam with anticipation as he takes it all in. 

Riza trails after him as he picks up several men’s coats in the Xingese fashion in quick succession. “The color on this is excellent,” he remarks, and then, “Hawkeye, look at this crane pattern.” “I wouldn’t normally wear yellow, but I’ve seen a lot of men wearing the color since we’ve arrived.” “Ah, I do like the style of this collar.” “What do you think of this embroidery pattern on the sleeves?” 

Finally, they stand in the center of the men’s section, Roy’s arms laden with a stack of Xingese menswear. Riza shakes her head. “You’re just like Rebecca. You two are hopeless.”

“I know how dear she is to you, so I won’t take offense.” Roy smirks. He nods toward the women’s section. “Let’s pick some out for you.”

“Is that really necessary?” Riza takes a handful of folded clothes from him. “I can help with those.” 

“We’re heading into a rural area that probably doesn’t get as many foreign tourists as Xing’s cities. We don’t want to stand out more than we have to.” 

“You have a point,” Riza allows. The displays of women’s clothing are tempting, and she admires the graceful silhouettes. All of them have high collars that would leave her back completely concealed, which is ideal. The embroidery and patterns and designs are all so much more intricate than anything she has seen in Amestris. 

Riza refuses to be self-indulgent (more self-indulgent than she has been on this trip, anyway). She limits herself to three dresses, one in cherry blossom pink, one in a rich honeysuckle yellow, and one in violet. The shopkeeper allows them to change into their new purchases in the spacious, elegant fitting rooms, undoubtedly pleased with the fact that Roy has likely covered a month’s worth of the business’s rent with his purchases alone. 

Riza removes her skirt and light sweater, tucking them into the shopping bag, before slipping into the yellow dress with the fan pattern on it. She tests her range of motion by quick-drawing both of her handguns, pleased with how the sleeves and skirt allow for easy movement in the upper and lower body. The skirt is loose enough to conceal her thigh holster and handgun as well, a must-have for all of her skirts and dresses.

Riza finds Roy waiting outside the fitting room, nose buried in his guidebook. It’s as juvenile as she had been as a twelve-year-old with a crush, but she has to try not to stare at the sight of him in the dark red traditional coat and the way it fits over his shoulders and chest. After a little more than two years of working together, she’s developed a near-immunity to Roy in his uniform and in the dress clothing he typically favors. This is a departure from the norm, and it suits him very much. 

Riza is weighing the appropriateness of giving a compliment when Roy looks up at her. He clears his throat, closing the guidebook and stuffing it in his shopping bag. “You look very - that’s a nice dress on you.”

“Thank you.” Riza holds a hand out to relieve him of the shopping bag. 

Roy takes her bag instead. “There’s an art museum nearby. I thought we could explore the collections and then go to an evening show at the opera house. Does that sound good?” 

“It sounds perfect.” The words are too honest, and Riza is grateful when Roy is distracted by a street musician playing the zither.

-

The train ride to Shanyin the following morning is even more scenic than their previous journey from Suzhao to Lianzhou. Despite the beautiful views (which Roy is in a prime position to enjoy, as he has claimed the window seat once again), he seems uneasy. He drums his fingertips on the armrest of his seat, taps his foot against the floor, cracks his knuckles, crosses his arms over his chest, and eventually flops his head back and stares at the ceiling, all of the breath leaving his body in a long sigh.

Riza remains silent, knowing that he will speak to her when he is ready. “I don’t know how you did it,” Roy says, finally, when they are an hour and a half into their journey. “Meeting Grumman for the first time, as an adult.” 

“It’s entirely normal to be nervous,” Riza assures him gently, closing her book. “You know that I was.”

“Even I could barely tell. You seemed as unflappable as ever.” Roy pauses. “No pun intended.”

“I’ve heard that one before, from a couple of other people,” Riza says, and Roy deflates. She looks out the window. She doesn’t keep her emotions locked as tightly away within her as she used to in the past. She has practice, now, in turning to Rebecca and to Roy, sharing her thoughts and feelings and letting them offer her the same support that she does for them. “I didn’t sleep well all week before our first dinner at Gumman’s place. And I cried to Rebecca for a quarter of an hour the night before.”

Roy is listening carefully, giving her his full attention, and Riza hesitates. “I was terrified,” she admits. She can’t look at him, so she studies her hands instead, knotted together in her lap. “The only other family member I had for most of my life was Father. I didn’t know if Grumman would be like him. If he would make me, deliberately or not, feel the way that Father made me feel.” 

(Small, useless, hapless, incompetent, uninteresting, an utter disappointment.)

Riza doesn’t say any of that. She doesn’t need to. Roy had lived under their roof for two years; he knew the humiliating truth of how little Father had chosen to associate with her. 

She meets his gaze, finally, and there is such quiet compassion and understanding in it that Riza almost weeps.

“You were brave,” Roy says softly. “To be open to meeting Grumman, after your past experiences with family. It would have been easier to leave that door closed, than to open it and walk through it.” 

Riza supposes that it had been brave. It had been a risk. A risk that she had finally felt equipped to take, knowing that she had Rebecca, and Roy, and Falman, Havoc, Breda, and Fuery, at her back as well. Her family by choice, if not blood. If things hadn’t worked out with Grumman, she’d known she would always have warmth and safety and comfort in them. 

“You are, too,” Riza replies. “To venture halfway across the world, seeking this connection with your mother and her history.”

“Brave, or stupid. Probably a little bit of both.” Roy shrugs. His gaze lingers on her. “I wouldn’t have been able, or willing, to do this alone.” 

“It’s my pleasure to make this journey with you,” Riza says, and she means every word. 

Roy smiles. “I wouldn’t have anyone else as a travel partner.” 

-

Shanyin is a picturesque little town, surrounded by the towering Han Gengxin mountains on all sides. Riza has never seen mountains like this before; they have a distinctly more dramatic silhouette than the mountain ranges of Fort Briggs. She and Roy disembark from the train, their bags slung over their shoulders, and they stare in amazement at their surroundings as they leave the platform.

“Wow,” is all Roy can manage, craning his head back to look at the mountains.

“Affirmative,” Riza agrees. It’s only seventeen-hundred hours, but twilight seems to have come early to this region of the country, compared to Suzhao and Lianzhou. The sky is a soft shade of purple, and a light fog is rolling in, down the mountains. Each of the businesses on Shanyin’s modest main street has the paper lanterns outside of their shops lit, and warm red and orange light glows from the lanterns. 

“I wish I had a camera like Hughes,” Roy grumbles. “Let’s find a place to stay and then we can go get something to eat before it gets too cold out. The records office is probably closed at this hour.”

Shanyin is too small to warrant a proper guidebook, but there had been informational pamphlets set out in a display at the railway platform. They find that the Shuren Lodge has two rooms available. The accommodation is humble, a far cry from the hotels they had stayed at previously, but the tiny rooms are cozy and clean. The innkeeper proudly shows them to the carefully maintained back courtyard, which is lit with lanterns that surround the circular pond. Lotus blossoms drift across the perfectly serene surface. It is one of the most beautiful, peaceful places Riza has ever seen, and she studies the view intently, determined to commit every detail to memory. 

(When she is back home in East City next week, when she wakes up in the dead of night, soaked in sweat and crying out from a nightmare, when she settles back down in her empty bed and curls herself around her pillow, clutching it tight - she can think back to this, and allow it to calm her. Just as she remembers walking alongside the Cretan coastline with Rebecca, their bare feet sinking into the warm white sand, the water lapping at their ankles.)

“We can come back here after dinner,” Roy says, as if he had noticed her hesitation to leave the courtyard. “There’s enough light from the lanterns to do some reading.”

They wander the surrounding area, discover a noodle shop a couple of streets away, and order beef noodles in a broth so spicy that it makes both of them sniffle. It’s a welcome heat, in contrast to the chill in the evening air. They are walking back to the lodge, conversing quietly about what it must be like to live in a town like this, when Roy stops dead in the middle of the sidewalk. 

“What is it?” Riza hadn’t perceived a threat, but she reaches for the weapon holstered at her thigh nevertheless, shifting from alert to highly alert. 

“Relax, Hawkeye.” Roy shakes his head as if dazed. “I don’t think we’re going to need to go to the records office tomorrow morning.”

He is staring at the bookstore across the street, at the painted wooden sign affixed to the top of the storefront. The characters are in Xingese, unfamiliar to her - but, Riza would guess, not unfamiliar to him. Roy has always been a quick study, and he has had his book on Xingese language and culture for a few days now. He’s nearly memorized other books in less time.

“Tian Booksellers,” Roy says softly, and Riza remembers his mother’s name. Shu Lan Tian. He had said that Tian was a fairly common surname, but that had been back in Lianzhou, a city of half a million people. Here, in Shu Lan’s birthplace, the chances are good that this is a shop owned by her surviving family. Her older brothers. 

The lights are on in the shop, though it appears empty. They exchange a single look, and Riza follows Roy across the street. His steps are brisk, his shoulders suddenly tense, and Riza senses his anticipation and anxiety as keenly as she has ever felt her own. (She wonders fleetingly if he had experienced the same thing when escorting her to her first dinner at Grumman’s manor.) 

There is a small charm of a smiling cat affixed to the top of the bookseller’s entrance, and the charm rings out a cheerful tone when Roy opens the door. It is a small shop, and somewhat dimly lit, but it boasts a respectable collection. Each of the dozens of weathered shelves is packed tightly with books. Xingese instrumental music plays softly from a radio set atop one of the shelves. A few well-worn armchairs have been placed at irregular intervals, and a large brown cat lies curled up in one of the armchairs. The cat opens bright, leaf-green eyes and meows at them. 

A man emerges from the back of the shop, carrying an armful of books. “Ni hao,” he greets, nodding at them politely. 

Roy repeats the greeting, stammering slightly on the words, and Riza’s breath catches in her throat at the sight of the bookstore’s proprietor. At the glimpse into the future. (At the glimpse at what the man she loves would look like, if he could live to see his fifties.) He has familiar dark eyes and hair, the same complexion, the same height, down to the inch. It’s an effort not to stare.

“Can I help?” Roy’s uncle asks, switching to halting Amestrian as he notes her appearance. Dressed in Xingese clothing as they are, Roy can easily pass for a Xingese citizen. Riza doesn’t have such luck, regardless of what style of clothing she wears. 

Roy politely declines in Xingese, and his uncle smiles and begins shelving his books. The two of them duck into a section several feet away. Roy blindly reaches for a book, pulling it off the shelf and opening it to a random page. His fingers fumble on the cover with uncharacteristic clumsiness as he opens it, the tiniest tell of his state of mind. Riza can see from the expression on his face that he isn’t quite taking any of the material in. 

She exhales slowly, in an attempt to steady herself. The sight of his uncle rattled her, and if it affected her so deeply, it would have been a blow to him as well. Roy’s father had passed when he was four. He has no uncles on his father’s side - Chris is his father’s only sibling. Roy has never been able to look at his father, or an uncle, or an older cousin, and think,  _ I might look like that, one day.  _

Just being here, in this small shop, is strange enough. Riza isn’t a superstitious person, and she never has been. Being here makes the hair on the back of her arms stand up, nevertheless. Had Shu Lan wandered this old shop, once? Had she stocked the shelves in front of them now as a girl? Had she curled up in one of these armchairs with books on science, and discovered her interest in chemistry? 

Roy closes the book he is holding and returns it to the shelf. He looks around the store with such an expression of bleak longing, as if he expects to see Shu Lan turn the corner, carrying her own stack of books, at any moment. Before she can think better of it, Riza places a hand on his arm, instinctively attempting to comfort him.

At least she has Grumman. At least she has gotten to know her mother so much better through her relationship with her grandfather. She has laughed and occasionally cried over dozens of stories of Cintra as a girl, recounted by Grumman in his study. She has photographs of her mother, and so many of her mother’s journals, which she has read and reread. She returns to them on nights that she can’t sleep, and on rainy Sunday evenings. 

Roy has Chris, who he loves as a mother. But for all of his life, he has had so little of Shu Lan. A yellowing photograph. A carved jade box. A jeweled comb. (There had been a stuffed tiger, given to him by Shu Lan after his birth. He had told her this during that first visit to Chris’s bar, when he had given her a tour of the place. Overcome by a fit of nostalgia, Roy showed her upstairs, to his childhood bedroom and his box of keepsakes from his parents. The stuffed tiger was loved and loyally clung to, and fell apart beyond repair shortly after his ninth birthday. Roy tried to repair it with alchemy, and blew up the tiger as well as half of one of his bedroom walls. He had been inconsolable with sorrow and anger, and had kicked a hole into one of the surviving walls.) 

For years, until Grumman, Riza had so little of her mother as well. She knows exactly how it hurts. She understands the sense of loss that runs so deep that it is difficult to put words to it. Roy had lost his mother at four, compared to Riza’s five; he doesn’t even have the amount of memories that she does.

Roy doesn’t say anything, now. He rests his hand on hers, his palm warm against the top of her hand. He holds it there for a couple of moments before releasing her. Riza steps away, her cheeks burning, mortified by her lapse. She reaches toward the first book she sees, a collection of short stories with the Amestrian translation accompanying the original Xingese text. 

Roy just stands there for a while, head bowed, lost in thought. He finally selects a compilation of poetry, and heads toward the checkout at the side of the shop. His uncle is there, having finished his shelving. He’s poring over a newspaper, reading it with as much interest as Roy studies the East City Times and the Central Times. He brightens when he notices them approaching. 

“All good?” he asks, as Roy takes her collection of short stories and hands it to him, along with his poetry book. 

“Shi,” they say, in unison, Riza with more uncertainty than Roy. He is adept at languages in a way she isn’t. She had barely been able to grasp Drachman despite years of practice, and her attempts at Cretan had been met with many confused stares when she and Rebecca had traveled there last summer. 

Riza takes a few steps away, wanting to give Roy some privacy. Her steps falter when she notices the two framed photographs hung on the wall behind Roy’s uncle. The older, smaller photograph captures two parents and three teenagers, standing on the street outside this very shop. Even at this distance, Riza can recognize the younger Shu Lan, no more than fifteen or sixteen, standing in between her two brothers. She has a wide, bright smile, just like the one she wears in Roy’s photograph of her with her husband, Theodore Mustang. 

The second photograph is of Roy’s uncle, standing beside a man who looks remarkably similar to him. Both men are flanked by their sons, and the four men beam at the camera. This photo, too, had been taken outside of the bookstore. Roy’s cousins look to be just a few years older than him.

There is an ache in her chest, a stinging behind her eyes. Riza blinks, unable to look at the photographs any longer. She turns away from the photographs, looking back at Roy. He’s staring at the photographs too, as his uncle counts out his change; staring like he wants to take the photograph of his mother as a girl and hold it close. 

“Enjoy Shanyin,” his uncle says, pressing the bills into Roy’s hand, lifting one hand in farewell to them. “Come again.”

His gaze lingers on Roy, though, and Riza expects Roy to say something, anything. Instead, he just manages a smile. “Wǎnshàng hǎo.”

Riza follows him out. Roy’s hand trembles slightly on the doorknob, but he doesn’t look back.

They don’t speak, on the walk back to the Shuren Lodge. Riza doesn’t voice her questions. Instead of proceeding to his room, Roy heads in the direction of the courtyard, and Riza finally speaks. “Would you prefer if I gave you some time alone?”

“No.” Roy doesn’t turn back to face her. “I want you - I want you with me.”

Riza accompanies him out to the courtyard. He goes to stand by the pond, setting their books down on the bench nearby, and she joins him. In Amestris, she would stand two steps behind him, guarding his back. Today, now, something tells her that she is needed at his side, and Riza comes to stand beside him instead.

They stand in silence for a long time, watching the lantern light flicker on the dark surface of the pond. Finally, Roy sighs, resting the heel of his hand against his forehead. There is so much defeat in the soft sound, and it breaks her heart. “I couldn’t do it, Hawkeye. I came all this way, and I just couldn’t do it. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Riza says, at once. “I understand.” She had nearly backed out of her first dinner with Grumman several times. 

“I realized there’s no point to it.” The expression on Roy’s face is bitter and bleak at the same time. “Developing a relationship with my uncles, my aunts, my cousins. They’ll just be--” 

He stops abruptly, before continuing. “It’s just more people that I’ll have to part from, in time.”

Riza swallows over her dry throat as his words sink in. On her sleepless nights, she’s thought about it as well. The fact that one day, after the trials, after the sentencing, she will have a last conversation, a last embrace, with Rebecca and with her grandfather. (As fond as she is of him, she hopes that Grumman won’t live long enough to see the trials begin, let alone witness the sentencing.) 

“It’ll be hard enough to say goodbye to Chris.” Roy closes his eyes briefly. “And Hughes and the unit. And you. I can’t… I won’t add more to that list.”

_ And you.  _

Riza never quite forgets that one day, ten or fifteen years from now, she will see the man she loves executed for the crimes he committed against the Ishvalans. She can only hope that her own execution comes immediately afterward. 

She nods, blinking away her tears. “I understand,” she repeats. 

Roy looks down at his open palms. “Besides,” he says quietly. “There’s no reason to think they would even want to associate with me. With the amount of blood on my hands, with the things that I’ve done to innocent people… Nobody would want to claim a man like me as their family. I couldn’t blame anyone for that.”

Riza pauses, trying to sort out her thoughts. “You have done terrible things,” she acknowledges, before looking down at her own hands, half-hidden by the long kimono sleeves of her pink dress. Roy had killed hundreds of Ishvalans with every snap of his fingers. She had taken lives one at a time, her finger pressing against the trigger of her sniper rifle. Her kill count had been lower than his, but it still ranks in the hundreds. She has blood on her hands, just as certainly as he does.

“But you don’t have any intention of just moving on with your life, rationalizing your actions by saying that you were merely carrying out the orders you were given, like a good soldier.” Roy is staring out over the water, at the small paper lanterns drifting out over the dark surface. “You intend to face the consequences of your actions. That is the right thing, the honorable thing, to do.” Riza hesitates. “I would be proud to call you my family.”

The words catch in Riza’s throat, betraying her, and Roy looks down at her. He is family to her in the same way that Falman, Havoc, Breda, and Fuery are, but  _ not,  _ at the same time. If they could have a future that looked more like everyone else’s, she would want Roy to be her family in a different way. 

(It’s been so wonderful, to explore Xing side-by-side with him. Riza has caught glimpses of other couples, young and old, traveling with just each other or with their children in tow. She has longed, hard and powerfully, for a life like that. For a small one-bedroom townhome in the outskirts of Central, for Roy to work as a civilian alchemist, for her to be a veterinarian, for them to save up all year to take a single vacation.) 

Roy brushes his hand against hers, his knuckles skimming along the fine bones at the back of her hand. The light touch makes Riza shiver. He slips his hand into her own, slowly, deliberately, interlacing their fingers. 

(He’s never done this before. Roy rested his hand on hers once, when he had tried to comfort her after burning her back, and then again earlier at the bookstore, but he’s never held her hand like this. She’s been with so many men, but none of them have ever held her hand like this, gently, quietly, fingers interlaced together, as innocent as a pair of young teenagers out on their very first date.) 

Riza looks up at Roy, and for the first time, she wonders if he wants the same things she does.

He leans in slowly, telegraphing the movement, making it clear what he is about to do. Giving her the chance to pull back. Riza meets him halfway instead. 

Roy kisses her very gently. She’s never had a first kiss like this before, either. They have been hungry, desperate, heated, intense. Never so slow, or so careful. 

This is the first time they have ever kissed, but to do this with him feels as warm and familiar and safe as coming home. Roy makes the softest sound against her lips, a sound of pure, utter contentment that tells her he’s wanted this for every bit as long as she has. Riza rests her free hand on his shoulder, and Roy places his on the small of her back. Then he’s untangling their fingers so that he can ease her fully into his arms, and she almost melts against him. 

Riza loses track of time as they cling to each other, trading soft, slow kisses. Her heart is hammering in her chest, and it feels surreal - the chill in the air, the warmth of Roy’s embrace and his mouth against her own, the way he strokes his fingers along her back, the smell of the lotus blossoms in the night air. It feels like a dream. She  _ has  _ dreamed about this before, so many, many times.

They finally pull apart, parting just a couple of inches. Roy rests his forehead against hers. His eyes are still half-closed, his long, dark eyelashes sweeping against his skin. They hadn’t been pawing at each other, they hadn’t allowed things to get too heated, but he’s still breathing hard. Riza doesn’t want him to let her go.

“I have you,” Roy says quietly. The words are less of a statement than a question. Riza hears the rest of the sentence.  _ I may not be able to have the family who I traveled halfway around the world to find, but I have you. _

“Always,” Riza vows, pressing her hand to his cheek, the scrape of unshaven skin underneath her palm. She’ll be with Roy for as long as they both will live. Whether that’s another ten years or another fifteen. They won’t be able to have the kind of relationship that others do; the ones that lead to marriage and children and a peaceful, leisurely retirement. But they will be able to make one another happy for the time that they have left.

They gather up their books and return inside, hand-in-hand. There’s a moment of hesitation in the hallway in front of their neighboring rooms, a moment where neither of them know what to do. They both want the same thing, Riza understands that now. She also knows that there is a lot she isn’t ready for yet. 

“You can come over later, if you want,” Roy says, and his gaze slides away from her, to the doorframe. “Just to sleep.”

The assurance sets her at ease, and something inside her unclenches. They retreat to their own rooms, and Riza gets ready for bed, brushing her teeth and taking a hot shower. She pulls on the gray silk kimono she had picked up from the hotel in Lianzhou, before letting her hair down from its clip and combing it out. Her hands tremble slightly, an involuntary reaction to the shock of the last thirty minutes. 

Riza picks up her pillow and hugs it to her chest, and paces in a small, tight circle around the tiny room.  _ Just to sleep,  _ she tells herself. She won’t do any more than that. She undoes the tie on her robe and then ties it again, tighter this time. 

She knocks on Roy’s door, unable to shake the feeling that she is doing something illicit, something rebellious. Her cheeks feel warm. He opens the door, wearing a pair of pajamas he must have bought at the clothing outfitter in Lianzhou - silky and dark red, with a high collar. The sleeves are a little too long for him, as are the pants, giving him an unexpectedly cute appearance. 

Roy brings her in, glancing to either side of the empty hallway, a nervous reflex, before he shuts and locks the door. The darkened room feels too small for both of them, and the slightest awkwardness hangs over them. Riza has the suspicion that she has spent more hours with Roy than she has spent with anyone else in her life, but they have never interacted like this. They have never shared a bedroom, let alone a bed. 

Without saying a word, Roy takes her pillow and sets it next to his. Riza can’t help but stare, startled by the unexpected domesticity of the gesture. 

(There are some moments that she has lived through, ever since enlisting in the military academy at seventeen, that she knows without a shadow of a doubt will be ingrained in her memory forever. A constellation of terrible moments in Ishval. The night that she and Rebecca had first become friends. Her first evening out with her new unit in East City. She has the feeling that this, Roy settling her pillow beside his own for the first time, will be one of those moments as well.) 

Roy holds out a hand to her, the gesture oddly shy. Riza looks at his outstretched hand, and she remembers--

_ I’ll follow you anywhere. Into hell, if you would ask it. _

She places her hand in his. 

They sink down onto the bed. Roy holds his arms out to her a little awkwardly, with the demeanor of someone who isn’t remotely accustomed to cuddling. Riza nestles close, resting her head against his chest, placing a hand on top of his heart. It’s beating a little faster than usual. The awkwardness that she had noticed earlier has abated; she feels as safe and comfortable with him as she had when he first kissed her. 

“Are you all right?” Roy asks. He adjusts his arms around her, patting her elbow and stroking her upper arms. “I don’t want to lean on your hair.”

“I’m fine.” Riza closes her eyes. “More than fine.”

Under different circumstances, normal circumstances, the two of them would stay up late, talking about this - about what has happened between them - and about family, and Roy’s family. She can’t bring herself to speak, though, and Roy stays quiet as well. Too much has happened tonight, and both of them need time to process it. 

Roy presses a kiss to the top of her head. A gentle gesture, something that her mother used to do for her. “Sleep well,” he says. “My Riza.” 

Riza savors the way he says her name. Not  _ Lieutenant,  _ not  _ Hawkeye,  _ but  _ Riza.  _ The two short syllables haven’t sounded so sweet in a long time. “Good night--” She pauses, testing his name on her lips. “Roy.”

Roy takes her hand, caressing his thumb against her knuckles, and Riza is lulled to sleep by the soft rhythm of his breathing.

-

Riza sleeps deeply, peacefully, free from nightmares, as she has every night since arriving in Xing. 

-

Roy takes her hand the next morning, as they are checking out of the Shuren Lodge, and doesn’t let it go. They get to the platform just before the train arrives at ten-hundred hours. For the first time in their entire working relationship, Roy cedes the coveted window seat to her with a gentlemanly gesture. 

“What prompted this change of heart?” Riza teases, settling into her seat. 

Roy shrugs, embarrassed. “It’s what you do for your girlfriend, I guess.”

The word flusters her just as much as it flusters him. (She’s had affairs, a months-long affair with a sniper in her unit in Ishval, followed by another months-long affair with her academic advisor after returning from the front lines. Then there had been a full dozen flings that had lasted no more than one night. She’s had more experience than any twenty-one-year-old should have, but she’s never been anyone’s girlfriend.) 

The train begins to move, pulling away from the platform, and they lapse into silence as they watch the town of Shanyin disappear behind them.

(Riza had asked Roy, just once, if he wanted to return to the bookstore this morning. He stared off into the distance for a while, and finally shook his head.)

His hand is tight around her own now. Riza looks at him, and she doesn’t even have to voice her question. “I wrote down the address of the shop,” Roy says, his voice barely audible over the rattle of the train on the tracks. “In case I ever do want to get in touch.”

“That’s good.” The way Roy’s uncle had looked at him while they had been in the store - Riza is sure that Anguo Tian went home last night, laid in bed, and stared up at the ceiling for a while, unable to sleep. 

Riza gazes out of the window. It’s a windy day today, and each gust sends yellow and red leaves fluttering from their branches. She doesn’t particularly want to (or know how to) bring it up. To address the unspoken fact that they’ve been holding hands for the whole morning. To address the way they had woken up curled together like a pair of kittens. 

She’d wondered, while getting ready for the day, what Roy wants from her. A fling, while the two of them have the freedom of being abroad, or to continue this even after they return to their lives and work in Amestris. (Even after they return to being the Colonel and the Lieutenant.) His calling her his  _ girlfriend  _ seems to indicate the latter. 

“Is that what I am to you? Your girlfriend?” Riza asks evenly, without looking away from the window. As much as her heart leaps at the possibility (because this is only what she had dreamed of every single night, as a fourteen-year-old with a crush), her own sense of reason warns her that this will be complicated. Messy. The anti-fraternization regulations exist for a reason. Unless Roy wants to transfer her to another unit, which isn’t a real option. She would never allow that. Her bonds with her unit, even outside of him, are too great now. 

Roy hesitates for just a moment. “Yes. If you want to be.” He squeezes her hand lightly. “You’ll always be my Lieutenant. Our working relationship doesn’t have to change. Just what we are to one another, after hours.”

Riza looks up at him. “Do you believe that’s possible?”

“I do,” Roy replies, and she hears the honesty in his words. “I trust that both of us will be able to make it work. We’ll have to be very discreet, of course.”

Riza nods, already assessing the situation. “Both in the office and outside of it. There are already rumors about us, though Grumman hasn’t acted on them.”

“He never would,” Roy mutters. “I could be spotted taking you out on a date and he would pass it off as a friendly dinner.”

“We may not always serve in East City under Grumman’s command.” Riza notes the fact with some reluctance. It is inevitable that Roy will transfer to Central Command at some point, considering his ambitions for advancement. The idea of working in such proximity to Fuhrer Bradley is still distasteful. “But being caught doing anything obvious could derail both of our careers. That would be unacceptable.” 

“Yes. We’ll be careful.” Roy clears his throat before continuing. “I want you to know I would never make you do anything you’re uncomfortable with.” (The words sound like as much of a promise to himself as they are to her.) “And if you ever want to break things off, there won’t be any professional consequences for doing so. Your place at my back, at my side, will never change.”

Both statements assuage the fears that Riza has carried inside her, quietly and privately, locked deep down, ever since the previous night. She inclines her head, grateful for the assurances. She trusts him completely, on both matters. “Thank you.”

Roy wraps an arm around her shoulders. Riza leans against him, and they look out the window together.

-

There is no direct trip from Shanyin to Lianzhou. The train stops for two and a half hours in the small town of Baotou, giving the passengers a break for lunch and some sightseeing. 

“There’s a short hike nearby, just three miles.” Roy consults the informational pamphlet he had picked up from the train platform. “It’ll take us to the Detian Waterfalls and back. We’ll be able to get back here in time without any difficulty.”

Riza makes a noncommittal noise as they leave their tiny eatery, where they had shared a large platter of chicken fried rice. She scans the main street, searching for the spot she had noticed earlier. “I have something else in mind.”

Roy follows her gaze curiously, and then he smiles.

-

It is an unusually risky and adventurous choice for her to make, to the point where Roy teases her, making a point of pressing a hand to her forehead to check her temperature and ask if she’s feeling all right. 

But four factors influence Riza’s decision. The scooter rental is priced reasonably, the scooters are in decent condition, the roads in Baotou are calm, and she insists on being the one to drive. Roy agrees after only a short attempt at convincing her otherwise. 

Riza listens carefully to the proprietor’s tutorial on how to safely operate the scooters, while Roy wanders around, inspecting the rental fleet. When the proprietor leaves, she calls him over, handing him one of the two helmets that had been provided to her. “Mr. Lim recommended a scenic route that should take us by the waterfall you mentioned. Put this on.”

Roy surveys the helmet, appalled. “But my hair--”

Riza narrows her eyes at him, and he meekly secures the helmet on his head. 

-

Riza lets her hair down from its clip to accommodate her helmet, and Roy wraps his arms around her middle. “Ready?” she asks.

He laughs, exhilarated. “I’ve been ready for this since our first day in Xing.”

Riza kicks the scooter into gear. The road to the Detian Waterfalls is narrow and winding, but almost completely free of traffic, and she sets a measured, reasonable pace to start. The breeze is cool and bracing against her face, but Roy’s embrace keeps her warm, and her hair flutters free in the wind. The trees on either side of them are ablaze with brilliant color, and the thought occurs to Riza, as they drive (Roy pointing out the small forest shrines they pass along the way), that she has never felt so free in her entire life. 

She proceeded directly from her unhappy childhood home to the strictly regimented existence of a military cadet. She hadn’t even been in the Academy for a full year when she was sent to Ishval. That altered the course of her life forever. It gave her a new purpose in life - to attempt to atone for the crimes she had committed in Ishval, and serve the people of Amestris, creating a better and more just country for all of them. 

It’s a purpose that is critically important, and all-consuming. It has left little room for anything else.

Riza savors this moment, racing along a scenic route in Xing with Roy’s arms around her, bracketed by the forest on one side of the road and now the expansive Detian Waterfalls on the other. Even if it is just for an afternoon, or a week, it feels so sweet, so good, to be free. She will remember this sensation for the rest of her life. 

They reach an overlook of the falls, and Riza pulls the scooter off the road, guiding it to a stop. Roy hops off, and offers a hand to her, helping her down, before wrapping an arm around her. There’s a chill in the air at this altitude, and they’re close enough to the falls that the cold mist is damp against their faces and hair.

They nestle against one another, admiring the view, and the mesmerizing roar and spill of the water as it tumbles down off the cliffs. “Thank you,” Riza says, resting her head against his shoulder. “For insisting that we take these extra few days in Xing.” 

“Thank you.” Roy hugs her close. “For agreeing.”

Riza tilts her face up to his, and they kiss until the waterfall’s mist leaves them both shivering.

-

They return to Lianzhou, spend two days enjoying the capital city, and then travel to Suzhao, where their journey had begun. Their convoy back from Amestris is scheduled to leave first thing tomorrow morning, at an ungodly hour that makes Roy groan when he hears it.

They’re exhausted after all of their travels, especially after the lengthy forest hike in the outskirts of Lianzhou. (Roy’s guidebook had promised natural hot springs five miles into the hike; Roy and Riza had found a couple of angry black bears instead.) Still, on their last evening in Suzhao, they visit the shopping district anyway, in search of souvenirs for their friends and family back home.

Roy finds the best and biggest shop, as he always does. Riza immediately heads off toward the elaborate display of ornamental and functional weapons, pointing out a sword that her grandfather would appreciate, a couple of short daggers that Breda and Havoc would like to have on hand, and a set of knife-sharp hair sticks for Rebecca. Roy watches her go, amused. He browses through the rest of the shop alone, and picks up a Xingese-style art print for Fuery, a desktop rock garden set for Falman, and an enormous box of pineapple moon cakes for Hughes. 

There is a display of jewelry at the far side of the store - necklaces, earrings, bracelets, and the like. Roy studies the collection with a critical eye. Nothing seems quite right. (Nothing is as beautiful as the jeweled hair comb tucked inside the carved jade box in his childhood bedroom. She deserves something beautiful, for the role she has played in his life.)

“Do you sell hair combs here?” he asks the man behind the counter, practicing his Xingese. “Ornamental, not functional.”

The salesman nods, thankfully understanding his rudimentary Xingese, and directs him toward the back of the store. The combs are set out carefully inside a glass display case, and the gems on each sparkle brilliantly. Roy catches a glimpse of a comb embellished with emeralds and diamonds, almost identical to the one in his keepsake box. The one his mother had worn. The sight makes his throat tighten, and Roy glances away, toward the rest of the collection. 

One of the combs glimmers gold, ornamented with a dozen glistening rubies. Roy remembers his aunt’s ruby necklace, and an odd wave of mingled sorrow and nostalgia sweeps over him. He realizes that he misses Chris. The months had gotten away from him. It’s been too long since he visited her in Central, or even made a phone call. He’ll make a trip there this weekend, and perhaps Riza will accompany him. 

Roy indicates the ruby comb. “I’ll take that one, please.” 

The salesman wraps it up for him, and Roy thinks of how well it will complement Chris’s necklace and earrings. Without meaning to, he remembers the photograph of his mother and father, the jeweled comb tucked into his mother’s ink-black locks, and another wave of grief washes over him. Shu Lan should have lived a long and happy life, and raised him alongside her beloved husband. He should have been able to buy her a souvenir from Xing on this trip as well.

But even in her absence, he hadn’t grown up motherless. Not like Riza had. Chris had been an unconventional sort of mother, yes. She had still eaten dinner with him every night; told him stories; held him when he had been frightened or sad. When the boys at school in Central City found out where he lived, and started to say disgusting things about him and his foster sisters and Chris alike, she had taught him how to brush all of it off and stay strong. How to pretend to be calm and confident, regardless of the words and judgements that came out of others’ mouths.  _ Fake it until you make it, kid,  _ she advised. 

Chris had nurtured his mind. Surely she had better things to do than accompany a child to Central City’s science museums or to the library every single weekend, but she had done so anyway, without a word of complaint or exasperation. She had taken an interest in his education. When it became clear that his interest in alchemy and the military weren’t just phases, she did everything she could to support those endeavors. 

The salesman boxes the comb and hands the small box to Roy. “It’s a lovely gift, sir. For a special lady?”

Roy smiles slightly. “Yes. My mother.”

He glances over his shoulder. Riza is in earnest conversation with another salesman, who is wrapping up a pair of daggers for her. 

“Do you have any other combs that aren’t on display here?” Roy asks quietly, switching to Amestrian. His Xingese won’t be up to this task. “Set with different gems? I’m not looking for any rubies, emeralds, or sapphires. Just diamonds, or perhaps topaz. Something to suit a lady with blonde hair and brown eyes.” 

The salesman follows his gaze to Riza, and nods his understanding. He goes to check the collection, and Roy taps his fingers against the glass display case, hoping that Riza won’t venture over here quite yet. Luckily, the man returns, holding a small box. “Came in six months ago,” he says, in Amestrian, just as quietly as Roy had spoken. “Unusual color for Xingese customers, but we decided not to send it back.”

He opens the box, revealing a delicate, jeweled hair comb. The tines are golden, the gems a warm, sparkling golden citrine. Roy imagines it in Riza’s hair, and he’s struck speechless. 

“That’s perfect,” he manages to say, recovering. “Thank you. I’ll take it.” 

The salesman boxes up the comb, and Roy gives him a grateful nod. 

He goes to join Riza, who is now browsing a selection of teas and recipe books. “For Falman and Fuery,” she explains, holding up one recipe book and one large tin of white peony tea. “I found a few silk dresses for Rebecca too. They’re holding those, and the weapons I bought for Grumman, Havoc, and Breda, at the front. Do you have everything you need?”

Roy smiles, and wraps an arm around her. “Yes,” he says. “I do.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everybody who read, left kudos, and commented on the previous chapter. Seeing your thoughts always makes my day. :) I hope you enjoyed this one too - please let me know what you think!
> 
> My personal headcanon is that Roy and Riza stay together in this alternate timeline of “delicate” until they move to Central after Hughes’ murder, at which point their relationship gets even more on the rocks than it is in the main fic. 
> 
> So much of what I write about Roy and Riza is angsty, so it was nice to write them experiencing some happiness together for a change. I really enjoyed exploring these thoughts about Roy's family - both his maternal family and his relationship with Chris Mustang, since we don't see a ton of information about that in canon. 
> 
> Additionally, @miename on tumblr created a gorgeous fanart of the scene with Roy and Riza eating breakfast together from chapter one, please check it out!
> 
> This story is dedicated to rizahawkayyyy/@thatisadamnfinecupofcoffee, who is intelligent, hardworking, and a smart egg overall, but even more importantly, a kind and good egg. :) (Thanks for not canceling me forever when I said that Roy was still attractive with his mustache, and when I also said that Berthold Hawkeye must have been hot back in the day.) 
> 
> I hope all of you have a great rest of your week!

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't shake this idea after writing Chapter Six of "delicate" and I wanted to work on a more lighthearted, more self-indulgent story during this past week, which has been stressful. Part two of this little story will be up before the next chapter of delicate - I'm mostly done with the second and final part. 
> 
> A few random notes--
> 
> I was lucky enough to travel to Taiwan last November, and a lot of the things that Riza and Roy see and admire here were drawn from my experience in Taiwan. I miss the night markets so much!
> 
> Regarding Roy and Riza's conversation on the train - could you tell that I live in America? Roy sees Amestris as so many people see America, as a deeply imperfect and in many ways broken country that he is determined to reform and improve, to make it live up to the potential and promise he sees in it. 
> 
> Roy and Riza are so young, twenty-one and twenty-five (twenty-six and thirty in fmab/the manga), and it strikes me as so sad that they are planning their own imprisonment & possibly execution after undergoing trials for war crimes. They're very young, to have committed such crimes, to shoulder the burden of such guilt, to plan to face the consequences of such actions. Their dedication to their purpose of reforming Amestris, rebuilding Ishval, and holding the war criminals involved in the execution of Order 3066 accountable, means that they are missing & have missed out on so many things other people their age do. They don't travel the world, they haven't found relationships or settled down, they don't have plans for the future outside of their plan for reform and justice. I wanted to touch on the way this might weigh on them and how they might be aware of the things that they're giving up. 
> 
> I hope that you enjoyed reading; please let me know what you thought!


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